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Geoff Loftus

Dark Mirage

Synopsis

Just weeks before Christmas, Marissa Carvajal wakes up naked and soaked in blood, a billionaire's corpse next to her in bed. She has no memory of the night before, no memory of his murder. And she’s agonizing over the horrible possibility that she killed the man.
Jack Tyrrell, former Green Beret and U.S. Marshal, and Harry Mitchum, Tyrrell's guardian angel, will do whatever they can to save her, racing against the NYPD, a private security force the size of a small army, and a group of lethal, Chinese spies ― all of whom want to catch Marissa and send her to prison. Or worse.
A gorgeous, troubled woman, a dead billionaire, action, high tech, and national security combine with questions of free will and moral responsibility to give this thriller a spiritual thrust.

Author Biography

I'm the author of the thrillers, MURDEROUS SPIRIT, DOUBLE BLIND, ENGAGED TO KILL and THE DARK SAINT, all published by Saugatuck Books.
I'm also a lifelong history buff and the author of "LEAD LIKE IKE: Ten Business Strategies from the CEO of D-Day," published by Thomas Nelson, Inc. A regular contributor to the Leadership Channel on FORBES.com, I've been gainfully employed in business journalism and corporate communications for more than a quarter-century. Working both freelance and on-staff, I have worked for Conde Nast, Deloitte Consulting, Fairchild Publications, and News Corp., as well as nonprofit organizations such as The Conference Board and the Society of Corporate Secretaries & Governance Professionals, where I was Vice President, Communications.
In October 2010, I was privileged to be the Keynote Speaker at the Eisenhower Legacy Dinner, which was held at the Dwight D. Eisenhower Presidential Library.
http://www.geoffloftus.com/books.html

Author Insight

Evading the police. And the bad guys.

Jack Tyrrell has to hide his client, Marissa Carvajal, from the police and from the bad guys, who are equipped with all kinds of security devices and cameras, with lots of guns, and with a lot of men and women with very ugly dispositions who are only too happy to use any and all of their tools on Marissa and Tyrrell. Life is far from easy when it seems everybody is out to get you.

Book Excerpt

Dark Mirage

Marissa was sitting in a chair near a crackling fire. She had a brandy snifter in her right hand. A tray with a bottle of brandy and more glasses was nearby.

She stood as we entered, “Any news?” Before we could answer, she stretched her right hand to my left cheek. “You're hurt.”

“Just boys being boys,” I replied. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Did that happen because of me? Were you hurt for me?”

“It was a minor misunderstanding. It's resolved now.” I wished I believed that.

Marissa didn't look as if she believed it, but she also realized that I wasn't going to tell her what happened. “I don't feel good talking in this house. Could we go outside?”

Harry said, “Yes, but you can trust―”

Marissa was gone before he finished, rushing out in the direction of the front door, and, I guessed, the front closet. A few seconds later she came back, shrugging into her winter coat and leading us out through a glass door. The night had grown very cold, but the snow had stopped. Across Long Island Sound, lights sparkled on the north shore of the island.

“What's happened? Are the police closing in on me?”

Harry said, “Not yet.”

“The police are still canvassing the guests at the Philharmonic benefit,” I said. “Sooner or later, they'll find someone who will say they saw you with McGill.”

“Then what happens?”

“NYPD will do everything it can to find you. Fortunately, you're safe here,” I glanced at Harry, who gave me the most minuscule of nods. “They can't find you here. But the police will be building a case against you at the same time as they're looking for you. Unless we find the real killer, you'll be in hiding for the rest of your life. But we're not going to let that happen.”

Marissa's eyes were watery with tears. Couldn't say I blamed her―a guy she hardly knew claimed he was going to save her. Not the stuff of reassurance.

“I didn't kill him,” she murmured, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I didn't . . . oh my God, I don't know . . . what if I did kill him?”

“You didn't. I'm going to find out who did and serve them up on a silver platter to the NYPD.”

Harry's eyebrows rose at my confident reassurances to her. I have to admit I was overdoing it, but the last thing this woman needed was an honest assessment of her chances. A realistic situation report would have gone more like this: Well, maybe you killed him, maybe you didn't. The police will find you eventually. Either you'll go to jail, or Harry will hide you forever. Whatever happens, you will kiss your old life goodbye. Under the circumstances, my approach, confident baloney that it might be, was much better.